


To the Victor

by Halrloprillalar (prillalar)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prillalar/pseuds/Halrloprillalar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ANH. After the medal ceremony, a party. After the party...</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 2002.

The ceremony was dignified, short, and exhilarating. The medal hung proudly against Luke's chest, gleaming in the light as the crowd roared in his ears, more people than he had ever seen in one place before. Leia smiled at him and Han stood beside him. 

The banquet was dignified, long, and boring. Leia sat across the table from him, but she spent the meal talking to her neighbour, a general, about the Rebels and their plans for the future. Han was nowhere to be seen. Probably slipped out before it started, the lucky bastard. The medal was heavy and it kept banging against Luke's plate. When he tried to take it off, Leia caught his eye and shook her head. It was the only time she looked at him the whole endless hour. 

The reception was just plain boring. Luke shook hand after hand, smiled smile after smile, stumbled his way through small talk, and drank glass after glass of fruit juice, too nervous to know what else to do with his hands. The medal was huge, ostentatious. Kill a lot of people and they hang this around your neck. So everyone will know and stay away from you. 

Eventually the crowd that had engulfed him swirled past and he stood there alone. He scanned the room, searching for Leia or Han, wondering how long he had to stay. Someone touched him on the shoulder. A pilot. Luke didn't remember his name. 

"Let's go, Skywalker, the real party is this way." He took the fruit juice from Luke's hand. "You won't need that." 

Luke didn't look back, just followed the man out of the room, back to the barracks. A dozen pilots were crowded into a two-person room, sprawling on the floor, lolling on the bunks. When he walked in, nobody cheered, but somebody handed him a bottle. He drank gratefully, heat rasping down his throat, through his chest. 

"Hey, Skywalker, pass it on," somebody called. 

Luke grinned and took another drink first. Then he pulled the medal off and stuffed it in his pocket. 

He joined a group sitting in the corner, playing cards. 

"Deal you in, Skywalker?" Casele was the man's name, Luke was pretty sure. 

"I'll just watch." 

"C'mon, hero, play a few hands." Temple? Foss? 

"No credits, sorry." 

"I'm sure we can stake you something to get you started." Shiroha -- Luke remembered her name at least -- smiled at him and put her arm around his shoulders. 

A few hands wouldn't hurt. He squeezed into the circle. The bottle came around again. Warmth began to radiate through him and he relaxed, laughed at Casele's jokes, lost all the credits Shiroha lent him. 

Out of the game, Luke found himself drawn into another group of lounging pilots. The game here was one-upsmanship and once again Luke felt like he could barely make the ante. So he listened to the tall tales and smiled a lot and wished that Han could be there too. 

"...then I said, you wouldn't say that if the Emperor were here." 

Everyone laughed and Luke leaned back against the wall. Then sat up again when he felt a hand on his thigh. He followed the arm up and found it attached to the man sitting beside him. Dark hair, thin face. Bright eyes. Wiry frame. Hand on Luke's thigh. Wedge. Wedge Antilles. 

"You must have some good stories to tell, Luke." Wedge smiled and increased the pressure of his fingers just a little. 

"Uh...not really." Luke leaned back again. Wedge leaned in the same amount. 

"Sure you do, crack pilot like yourself, raised on the frontier, rescued the princess, blew up the Death Star." 

Luke tried to inch away without looking like he was inching away. "But you already heard about all that." 

Someone else whacked Wedge on the arm. "Leave him alone, Antilles. He's just a kid." 

The hand moved away, reluctantly, and Luke was half-glad for the rescue, half-angry they'd thought him a kid who needed rescuing. 

"He's like that with everyone, Luke." 

And that was supposed to make him feel better? 

"We'll keep him off you." 

Wedge flicked a bit of paper at the pilot who had spoken. "You never got over me, did you?" 

She picked it out of the air and sent it sailing back. "You never got over yourself, sweetheart." 

Everyone laughed, Luke with them. And the tall tales resumed and Luke relaxed, mostly. But he was still conscious of the man close beside him. And he still felt the hand on him, but now it was the ghost of Tatooine nights, of names he couldn't bring himself to think right now. 

He got up and walked away. Across the room, there was a footlocker doing duty as a snack table, so he headed there and picked at bits of cracker, crumbs of cheese. He wanted another drink, but couldn't see a bottle anywhere. Someone came from behind and handed him one. 

He took the bottle and turned around. Wedge again. Luke drank and choked a little. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then handed the bottle back. 

"Keep it." Wedge smiled. He was leaning, body angled, hand braced against the wall. 

So Luke kept it. He didn't speak. He was talked out, big or small. 

"You enjoying yourself?" 

Luke hesitated, then nodded. The bottle was heavy in his hand and the alcohol light in his head, his belly. 

"Did I make you uncomfortable before? I'm not known for my tact." Wedge's eyes were sharp, piercing, penetrating, all those words that meant he was looking right at Luke. 

Even if he hadn't been keeping quiet, that wasn't something Luke knew how to respond to with any degree of suave worldliness. So he shook his head in a way that he hoped meant no, of course not, I turn down better men than you all the time. 

"And now you say, 'So, Wedge, just what **are** you known for?'" 

Luke smiled in spite of himself. "So, Wedge," he said, "just what **are** you known for?" 

"Well, this..." And Wedge reached up and ran the back of his hand down Luke's cheek, just brushing the corner of his mouth. It was warm, it was slow, it was sudden. 

Luke stiffened, trying not to pull back, not to lean in. He should have stayed at the reception. 

"Am I making you uncomfortable now?" Wedge let his hand rest on Luke's shoulder. "Because I came over to try again." 

Luke tried to hold still, worried that any movement he made would be misinterpreted. "I don't even know you." 

Wedge's hand was still on Luke's shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. "Is that important?" Back and forth. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Skywalker. Just spend the night with me." That grin again. "Or at least an hour." 

Luke was not blushing, was not tongue-tied. Was not powerless to move as Wedge took his hand. Was not focused on the thumb that circled his open palm again and again. Was not turned on. 

He couldn't jerk back and pull his hand away; he'd only draw the attention of the others. They might even decide the kid needed rescuing. 

Wedge moved closer, eyes on Luke's face. "Come on. I still feel bad about pulling out of the trench. Let me make it up to you." He still stroked Luke's palm, brushing his thumb down over Luke's wrist and up along the fingers. 

"You don't have anything to make up." Luke closed his hand, trapping Wedge's thumb, trying to keep it still. "Anyway, you saved my life out there." But now fingers were moving over the back of his hand, up between his knuckles. 

Then Wedge was leaning in and Luke could feel his body heat. The room was dark and Luke realised he had closed his eyes. Wedge's cheek was pressed to Luke's and his voice was low. "Then I guess you owe me." 

The words buzzed in Luke's ear and down his spine, so that he shivered once before he could stop himself. Wedge let go, stepped back, and Luke was free, eyes open. 

"But don't let me pressure you." Wedge smiled. 

Luke's hands were cold. He lifted the bottle to his mouth again and jammed the other hand in his pocket. The medal was there, warmer than his skin. He wrapped his fingers around it and the edge cut into his palm. He wished he could think of something to say. 

Wedge scanned the room once, then looked back at Luke. "Just a walk, then? It's stuffy in here." He smiled. "You look a little hot." 

It was stuffy. "I'm fine," Luke said. He felt a little hot. He took another drink, then set the bottle down. 

"Whatever you say." Wedge started to lean in again, then drew back. "Here comes Law to tell me off again." 

Luke saw her heading towards them and couldn't bear to be rescued again. "A walk sounds good." He headed for the door and felt Wedge's hand on his back as they walked out into the hall. 

"You saved us both, Skywalker." Wedge squeezed Luke's shoulder. "I don't have another medal for you, but I'm sure we can work something out." 

Luke stepped away. "Let's just walk." 

"Whatever you like." 

They headed down the corridors, not speaking, and ended up outside. It was cool and the fresh air felt good on Luke's face. He stood and looked out at the night sky and tried not to think about war and death. A shooting star flashed past, then another, and another. Luke closed his eyes. Wedge stepped close and kissed him. 

Luke opened his mouth under the kiss before he remembered that he wasn't going to. Wedge's arms came around him, stroking his back. Luke brought his hands to Wedge's waist and they stood there for a while. Wedge smelled so clean. No smoke, no oil, no blood. Wedge slid his tongue into Luke's mouth and heat bloomed in Luke's belly. 

Luke sighed once and Wedge pulled him closer. But when Wedge's hands moved down over Luke's ass, Luke pulled away. "Wedge, I'm not going to..." 

"No?" Wedge ran his hand over his mouth, then gave Luke half a smile. "Why not?" 

"It's not..." Luke stopped. He didn't know how to say that it was wrong to be alive when others were dead. "I'm drunk," he said and immediately knew how stupid that sounded. 

"You're not drunk." Wedge's eyes gleamed. "And if you were, I'd do you anyhow." 

"We just shouldn't." 

"You'd better come up with something more convincing than that, Luke. I may be the first, but I won't be the last. You're the hero. Everybody wants you." 

"Because of that?" 

Wedge reached out and touched Luke's cheek like he had before, a slow caress with the back of his hand. "Partly because of that." 

Luke didn't pull back from the touch. He just stood looking at Wedge, at his dark hair and shadowed face. 

"This is how it's always been," Wedge said. "When the warrior comes home from the war, he should get laid." Luke smiled and Wedge took him by the shoulders. "Tell me to go." 

Luke opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Heat still ran beneath his skin and maybe it was better not to be alone. 

"I didn't think so," said Wedge, and kissed him again. 

After a while, they drew apart. Another shooting star went by. They went inside. 

"Where are your quarters, Skywalker?" 

"What about your quarters?" 

"Those **were** my quarters, hero." Wedge stopped, pushed Luke against the corridor wall, started kissing his neck. "But right here is fine with me." 

Luke arched his neck, hands at his sides, fingers clenched. A rivet stuck out of the wall into his shoulderblade. Wedge moved his hands onto Luke's chest, his mouth still hot on Luke's skin. Luke's mouth was open and his breath was ragged. 

Then Luke heard voices down the hall and pushed Wedge away. "Not right here." 

Wedge breathed heavily and his eyes were shining. "Then where?" 

Last chance to say no. Luke held out his hand. "Follow me." 

When the door to his quarters slid open, Luke stepped in and almost tripped over some gear strewn on the floor. He kicked it aside and felt for the light. After a few moments in the dark, he found the panel and turned it on. 

He turned around and Wedge was already naked. Stark naked, smiling, and half-erect. It was a few seconds before Luke realised he was just staring. And blushing. 

"Take a holo for those long winter nights." Wedge stretched elaborately. "Don't just stand there, hero. Take your boots off." 

Luke turned away, embarrassed that he was embarrassed, and pulled off his boots and socks. Then Wedge came up and put his hand on Luke's face, fingers sliding back into his hair. "I'll do the rest." He pressed his cheek to Luke's. "One-handed, too." 

Luke kissed Wedge and Wedge pushed his hand under Luke's shirt and Luke hadn't been this hungry in weeks. When his clothes were strewn on the floor and his lips were stinging from Wedge's evening stubble, Luke pushed Wedge onto the narrow bed and climbed on after. 

He ran his hands down Wedge's body, shoulders to shins in one slow drag, then leaned in and began to taste him, his neck and chest and belly. Wedge moved under him, arching his back and touching Luke's head and back. Luke stroked Wedge everywhere he could reach, felt the old scar that puckered Wedge's shoulder, the hipbones sharp and too near the surface. 

Any last shreds of apprehension burned away and Luke was taken by desire. For Wedge, for anyone. For the first familiar thing in many lightyears. For a body under his hands, a voice in his ear, and a possible task. 

Moving down, he took Wedge's cock into his mouth. Wedge gasped and wound his fingers into the sheets. Luke spread one hand on Wedge's thigh. This was good, this was better. This was just what he needed, too long since and he wasn't thinking about that, just about now. About what it was doing to Wedge and to Luke too. 

"No, Luke, stop. Stop. Luke." Wedge tugged at Luke's hair. "Stop." 

Looking up, Luke released him, ran his hand over his mouth. 

"You're good, hero, you're too good. Don't want to end the party early." Then Wedge pulled Luke up and rolled over on top of him. "And why should you get to have all the fun?" 

So Wedge had his fun for a while, with his mouth and his hands and his thighs and all of Luke. Then he sat back on his haunches, stroking Luke's calf. "What do you want, Skywalker?" 

"What?" 

"You know, fuck or suck, do or be done by. It's all up to you, hero, so what do you want?" 

Oh, the choices. But the best would be... "I want to have you." 

"Good." Wedge smiled. 

Luke reached out for him, then frowned. "But I don't have what we need. There were some things in the locker when I got here, though. Maybe there's something." 

"There might be. Let me look." Wedge said. "I've been in this bed before." He got up and found a small bottle in the locker. 

Luke didn't know what to say. He kissed Wedge once more and took the bottle from him. And when they were ready, he lay down behind Wedge and put his arm around his chest. 

They moved together and the bed creaked. They were covered with a sheen of sweat. The lights were bright. Then Luke was swallowed up, turned inside out, and Wedge was laughing at something he'd said, but Luke didn't know what it was. After the breath returned to his lungs, Luke moved his hand lower and Wedge stopped laughing. 

When they were done, Wedge turned off the light. Luke thought he'd leave then, but he came back to the bed and they kissed in the dark, languid and slow, and then they slept. 

In the morning Wedge was still there, spooned up behind Luke. Luke turned and watched him for a while, snoring softly, dark hair ruffled against white sheets. "Wedge, wake up." 

"Mmm." 

"Come on, we have duty." Luke shook Wedge's shoulder. 

Wedge pulled the pillow over his head, rolled over, and fell out of bed. "Damn!" His head appeared over the edge of the bed. "Morning." 

"Morning yourself." 

"Nice bedhead, hero." Wedge grinned and ruffled Luke's hair. "Are we in time for breakfast?" 

"I think so." 

"Good. I want to see Law's face when we walk in together." 

Luke laughed and they got ready to go. 

Two weeks later Luke found the medal under the bed. 


End file.
